Blame
by Saphrona Attecombe
Summary: Reese has some unlikely help dealing with the loss of Carter. First person POV Reese, one shot. Please, as always, R&R. Enjoy!


I sighed, heavily, to cover up the stab of pain I felt as I settled into the bench, pulled my coat tighter against the cold. Shifted my scarf further up over my ears, noticing how my breath congealed as it plumed away. The small park was empty, which was no surprise. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe. Ha. Who was I kidding? It hurt to breathe, anyways. Simmons bullet had done a lot of damage, not all of it physical. I welcomed the pain. I _deserved_ it. I could smell snow in the air, and knew it wouldn't be long before flakes materialized. I slipped the small bottle of bourbon from my inside pocket, took a long swallow before capping it, returning it to my coat. I lied to myself, pretending it helped with the pain.  
It didn't. All it did was blur the edges of my guilt.  
It was good to get outside, away from all the fuss directed at my recovery. I made a rueful face, felt a little remorseful; I shouldn't resent the concern of my friends. They had saved my life, but it was becoming too stifling. I'm healing, thanks to Shaw's expert, if impersonal, medical prowess, and Finch's seemingly untiring attentiveness.  
My anger and frustration needed some space, and the only way I was going to work it all out was to get some time alone.  
The park was hardly another galaxy, yet it was close enough to the Library that Harold finally relented to my going alone. I had my Sig tucked into the small of my back, but still Harold had been annoyingly insistent about me wearing a bulletproof vest. The weight added to the burden of pain, and I had sharply told him so, left him standing with the vest in his hands and a look of concern on his features. Bear had whined to go along, but he had to settle for a gentle pat, and scruff of his fur. I really didn't want, or need, any distractions. I needed to be truly undisturbed.  
I shivered, shoved gloved hands deep into pockets, and, after a quick scan of the area to be certain I was unobserved, closed my eyes.  
_Why hadn't the machine saved Carter_? I wondered, for the hundredth time. The thousandth. I was lost, both of faith and heart. How could I continue, if this was the cost we had to bear? Did I even want to? Who would be the next casualty?  
I heard footsteps, relaxed and unhurried, approaching, and, as their owner stopped in front of me, I opened my eyes. Anger ground my jaw tight, as I acknowledged,  
'Elias.' Elias smiled, a paternal patience, admonished,  
'Come, now, John. We've certainly been through enough together that you should feel free to call me Carl.' I held silent, and after a few seconds he shook his head, resignation, and sat down beside me. I threw a quick glance to my left, spotted his scar-faced right hand man, a perpetual sneer of disdain twisting his features. He was lounging casually, just out of earshot, but his keen gaze never stopped sweeping the area for threats.  
Clearly, today I wasn't one of them. Elias waited until I was satisfied that he was not here to cause trouble, hands tucked tight into his pockets. I decided I needed another swallow of bourbon.  
'What do you want?' I growled, fighting the urge to get up, leave. Elias gave a soft laugh, said, with a pointed look at the bottle in my hand,  
'Just wanted to be certain you were on the road to health, John. It's been a rough few weeks.' I shot him a glare, but refused to comment. Elias studied the sky, long moments of silence.  
'I didn't know if you realized the huge debt I owed Detective Carter,' he began, garnering my complete attention.  
'What the Hell are you talking about?' I snapped, fiercely. 'Carter put you away.'  
Elias smiled again, corrected me,  
'She also broke me out.' I blinked, sharply, confused, drawing another smile from Elias.  
'Ah, I didn't imagine you knew about that.' He shrugged, met my eyes.  
'HR managed to have me secretly removed from incarceration, with the intent of having me executed. Detective Carter intervened at…an opportune moment. True, she did keep me for herself, for a brief period of time, so that I might assist her in her endeavors.' I realized I was staring in disbelief. Elias just kept smiling, and I could see he wasn't lying. How could she have kept that information from me? Why would she?  
Well, maybe because I might have been tempted to do something unpleasant to Elias, or, more likely, it might have caused me to have doubts about her private vendetta against HR, perhaps take it on myself to shut her down.  
She hadn't trusted me. The thought hit me, hard, and it hurt.  
'You shouldn't regret her sacrifices, John. I believe, in the end, it was the best outcome.' I turned sharply toward Elias, ignoring the pain the movement caused, and snarled through gritted teeth,  
'Are you saying I should be _happy_ she's dead?' In my peripheral vision I saw his lapdog jerk his attention toward me, but Elias calmly waved him down.  
'No, John, what I'm saying is there are a lot of different perspectives from which to judge any story. For example; for some time I was quite annoyed at my inability to…shall we say…eliminate your, and her, interference with my business. At the time, it was vexing, to say the least.' Elias paused, contemplated his simple, well-worn shoes, before continuing.  
'Where would I be now, had I succeeded in killing her, or you?'  
'In Hell, where you belong,' I shot back, breathing steam like an enraged dragon. Elias laughed, admitted,  
'Of that, I have no doubt. However, you must accept she made her own decisions, and many of them were poor ones. A single-person assault on HR was ill-considered. She should have had more concern for her son. A terrible thing, to grow up without your Mother.'  
I studied Elias' face, searching for the sorrow that had prompted those words, but didn't find it. The man was brutally disciplined with his expressions. He noticed my perusal, but just smiled.  
' At least, he is in safe hands, with his Father.' He tilted a deceptively kind look toward me, continued,  
' Detective Carter simply painted a bulls-eye on herself, when she undertook this project. Had she lived to see it through, I'm afraid she would have had strong reason to fear for her son's life. I believe she imagined she was fighting a battle, when, in reality, she'd stepped into the middle of a war. A rapidly escalating war.' I stared at the bench across from me, unblinking, attempting to conceal my recognition of his truths, angrily turning the bottle of bourbon between my fingers. Elias studied my face, discerned it, none the less.  
'You, and I, we deserve the targets we wear. We can do terrible things, and accept the repercussions, because we have no one left they can take from us.' I clenched my teeth, blinked rapidly, several times, because he wasn't quite right. At least, not about me. I had Harold, and, well, I had to admit it, Fusco. Maybe Shaw.  
'I admired her for her tenacity, as I do you. I also realized that you, and Detective Carter, had the same weak spot; each other. All I ever had to do, to find you, was follow her. Simmons knew the same thing, and you should have, as well. She was such a savvy investigator, but she never did figure that out. For that …blindness… she is as much to blame for her own death as you are, even more so.' I turned my glare on Elias, still trying to deny that he was right, but he laughed, softly, at my expression. He was right. Simmons would've known Carter would come spring me. Both of us, in one place, falsely secure in our recent victory. His inside contacts would have told him where we were. All he had to do was wait. Sitting ducks.  
'I suggest you relinquish that guilt, John. Learn from your mistakes. Realize that Carter accomplished a marvelous feat, despite the difficult price she paid. Taylor will now be safe, along with his Father. I hope that my ability to eliminate Simmons helps pay the debt I owed her. And, you.'  
Snowflakes had begun falling, and streetlights were flickering alive. I sighed, winced, and hunched my shoulders, just a bit more, against the cold, studied the label on the bottle in my fists. After a moment, I gave the smallest nod, grudgingly, said,  
'I do appreciate that.' Elias smiled, replied,  
'It was truly my pleasure,' and I was quite certain that he had enjoyed executing that corrupt man.  
Not that I would deny I wish I could have been the one who had done the deed. Elias came to his feet, sighed, looked up at the falling snow.  
'I can't promise we won't have our differences in the future, John. I just hope you can recall my fondness, my admiration, for Detective Carter, as well as my respect, for you.' He met my eyes, again, wearing that same fake smile I had come to know, and despise.  
'I have a very good memory, Carl,' I assured him, softly, and he just laughed,  
'I know you do, John. I know you do.' I was quite certain he recognized the undertone of threat carried in my words. He turned to leave, paused to say, over his shoulder,  
'Remind Harold, he owes me a game,' and headed into the gathering darkness. His minion fell in behind, but not before favoring me with an evil sneer. I ignored it, kept watching until I was certain they weren't coming back, all the while my mind whirling through everything Elias had said. Truth hurts, and, like it or not, this one was a doozy.  
He was right. All of it. I had to accept my share of the blame in Joss' death, but hers was the larger share.  
She was a soldier. She knew the possible cost when she took on her private vendetta. No matter how she might've rationalized it to herself, saying it was all just to clear out the last of HR, the truth was she'd wanted revenge. I knew, better than most, what a dangerous motivator that could be.  
I squeezed the bottle in my hands so tightly I feared it might shatter, and I gulped several deep, painful breaths in an attempt to regain my calm, watched the swirl of my breath, proof of my life, disappear into the night.  
No way I could change what had happened. Carter was gone. Her fault, my fault, our fault, the world's fault, it didn't really matter who, or what, was to blame. I unscrewed the cap of the bottle, began to raise it to my lips with a shaky hand, then let it drop back to my lap, not tasted. I glared across the darkness of the snowy park, through the wildly swirling snowflakes, and the silence of acceptance. I allowed the grief it's place, felt it wash through me, a wave, let it crash on the rocks of resolve, and dissipate into nothing. The pain wouldn't leave so readily, but I knew from experience that it, too, would fade.  
I closed my eyes, sighed. Heard soft footsteps, recognized them, and allowed myself a small smile.  
'Harold just couldn't stand it, could he?' I said, looking up to Shaw, who laughed,  
'You know Harold.' She hunched her shoulders against the cold, show gathering in her hair, hands jammed into her coat pockets, and motioned with her head toward the Library, asked,  
'You ready to get outta here?' I hesitated, just a second, allowed myself one more look at the bottle I held. Shaw waited, silent. I liked that, about her. I came to my feet, a bit unsteadily, but Shaw didn't offer any help. Not that I expected her to. I turned, leaned toward the trash can alongside the bench where I'd been sitting, and dropped the bottle into it. When I turned towards her, it really did seem as if her smile had grown. I winced over my first few steps, but I knew that soon, my body would be healed.  
My soul was going to take a lot longer.


End file.
